stranded on a desert isle
no rhyme, no meter, no hope
all alone on sand-shores blown
by winds tempestuous and warm

awaiting relief from proper sounds
that soothe the savage beast
that in each breast beats savage-strong
and offers no retreat

with schemes defunct by unkempt measures
that serve as guard-rules stern
and bid the freedom yet unfound
by limitless words unheard

unwelcome freedom does exist
the rhymester doth proclaim
'tis not for some this sacred means
of scribing seems good at all

so some may read and simply follow
what's good for some...does not favor all